I'm on my back, and staring into space And though my eyes seem vacant, they are filled With broken spirits from another place Where mothers watch their children being killed. It doesn't matter who the killers are, It doesn't matter who the bleeding be, What matters is that although I am far, I feel the dark effect it has on me. For laying frozen on my bed, I stare As if each passing second is my toil Against this grave oppression laying bare My shallow games of empathy that spoil An evening of laughter, games and fun, And lists of silly things that must be done.